When It's Still Not Enough
by SerenityFalconNormandy
Summary: Written based on the Dragon Age Reddit Weekly Writing Prompt: Write an occurrence of your character completely losing it. Even being Hero of Ferelden doesn't free Gwyneth Surana from some of the Chantry's demands.


Alistair didn't know what to expect when the maidservant came running to him in a panic.

"Your Majesty! Come quickly, it's Lady Gwyneth!" Her cap was askew, cheeks flushed from her mad dash through the halls of the palace in Denerim. Viola was normally as cool and calm as Gwyn herself, so for her to be worked into such a tizzy as to run to find him, it had to be important.

Elissa had Maric in her arms, one of the nannies was helping her with Bryce, three year old Moira was tugging on her skirts shrieking for her attention, and a pinched look of distress strained her face. Both babies were screaming with hunger and even with help, she was having trouble keeping up with three children and her duties as Queen.

He was torn between helping his wife, and his beloved. When Moira had been born, he had promised Elissa and his tiny daughter that he would be a better father than his own had been to Cailan and himself. Now, that promise had him running his hands through his strawberry-blonde hair, feeling like the boy who had followed a slip of an elven mage through the Blight because there was too much to take in, in too little time, and he couldn't bloody _think_ and decide which direction to go in so he just followed. So he was turning towards Elissa, then the door, then back to Elissa, before nearly falling over Moira, who had given up haranguing her mother to chase her mabari puppy, a gift from her nameday the previous month. A riot of copper curls, skirts, and barking grey pup dashed out the door, a clang, faint crash, and surprised guard's shout marking her progress down the nursery wing's hall.

Taking charge amidst the chaos, Viola swooped over to Elissa and took Maric, using a soothing tone, "Here, Your Majesty, let me take him. You lie down and we'll get one of the wet nurses to look after the babes."

Elissa sagged into her chair with relief, and pointed at the door. "Go check on Gwyn. And make sure that Moira hasn't escaped the nursery again."

Finding Moira was easy. His adored little harridan had been easily distracted by Solona Amell. She had the little girl balanced on one hip, puppy tucked against her chest on the other side, and the promise of a story to focus Moira's attention on a large bookshelf. Looking over Moira's head, she mouthed, "Hurry."

Oh, Maker's bloody… It must be _BAD_.

Grand Cleric Elemena was outside Gwyn's suite, snapping at the guards to let her in. When she spotted him, she strode up and jabbed a finger into his chest. She looked angry enough to chew through leather as she hissed, "Your Majesty, I expect to know the father's name and have your promise that the child will be given to the Chantry at birth by sundown, is that _clear_?"

Alistair's face grew hot, he grabbed Elemena's hand and shoved it away. "You may expect it, _Grand Cleric_ , but you will not get it. Lady Gwyneth saved this kingdom and the whole of this Maker-forsaken _world_ from the Blight in a bloody _year_. I granted her freedom from the Chantry's restrictions on mages in thanks, and she has done nothing but use the freedom granted to her in the service of this kingdom. She deserves her privacy and a small spot of happiness. If you want to force her to do anything, you'll have to get an edict from the _Divine_ herself to do it, and an army."

Elemena's mouth pinched tight, and she spat, "Her few good deeds do not cover the _sin_ of what she is, _Your Majesty_. And this is not over."

He watched the Grand Cleric stalk away, then nodded to the guards as they let him into Gwyn's suite. He almost missed her, sitting in her overstuffed chair in front of the fire. "Gwyn?"

"What more do I have to do?" She turned Stormheart eyes to him as he knelt in front of her.

"What do you mean?"

"We save the kingdom from the Blight in under a year. I stop Kinloch Hold from being Annulled. I reverse a possession, something that, as far as we know has never been done before. I find the bloody _fucking_ Ashes of Andraste and cure Arl Eamon. I kill a high dragon, save Amaranthine and fucking Vigil's Keep. I work tirelessly helping you and Elissa run Ferelden, and _it's still not enough_." Her shoulders started to shake and her voice pitched higher and higher, until she was screaming at the last. The glass she had been holding in her hand shattered in the fireplace, shards glittering as they landed in ash and ember.

"Gwyn!"

"Leliana isn't in Val Royeaux with the Divine! She's in fucking _Kirkwall_ because of course someone would put a fucking Circle in a city designed for a _blood magic ritual_ , like _that's_ a good idea, and be absolutely _bloody fucking shocked_ when it goes to _shit_!" She bent forward, her loose hair sliding in a blood red waterfall as she started gasping in panic. Alistair cupped her delicate face in his hands, speechless.

She flung his hands away and stood up. He sat down, hard, and Gwyn stepped over him, pacing in front of the fireplace. "What more do I have to do for this bloody world? What if the Divine isn't willing to side with me over the Grand Cleric without Leliana there, Alistair?"

"I will protect you and our baby, Gwyn. I promise you that. The Chantry is already on shaky ground in Ferelden for supporting the Occupation, and both the Grand Cleric and the Divine know it. They can't risk antagonizing us over our greatest hero."

"They can if they get the Bannorn on their side. Greatest hero or not, I'm still a mage, and worse, an _elf_." She spat out the last word, sarcasm dripping. Alistair's jaw clenched. It was true. If she had been a human mage, he might have been able to use the aftermath of the Blight as leverage to make her queen. He cared for Elissa, and he loved Moira, Maric, and Bryce, but… he loved Gwyn, too.

"Maker knows there are already members of the Bannorn who are ready to get me out of the picture if it would get them Gwaren or Amaranthine. Now that it's known publicly that there will be an heir to both the teyrnir and the arling that's _elf-blooded_ they'll do what they can to tear me down from the pedestal to try and get them for themselves. Who knows what the baying pack of ungrateful mongrels would do if they knew you were the father." What little color remained in her face drained away and she bent forward, trembling hands going to the tiny bump that Ferelden fashion did absolutely nothing to hide.

Alistair scrambled to his feet, pulling Gwyn back against his chest and lifting her weight easily, a few steps back and he was in the chair with her on his lap. He arranged her with head tucked against his neck, and placed his hands on hers. "What is it? Do you need me to send for Solona?"

"No. It's…" Her voice was a hushed whisper now, "I felt the baby move. I felt it _move_."

Alistair felt helpless when she started to weep, silent sobs shaking her while he held her in his arms. What good was a kingdom if he couldn't guarantee their safety?


End file.
